As I write this, I am sitting on a train heading north. Very north. Like so-far-north-in-New-Hampshire-I'll-be-almost-in-Canada north.
Why am I doing this, you ask? Why in the world would I be heading out of the city so soon after returning from two months of living in Connecticut?
Well, for one thing, New York gets really hot in the summer, especially when your apartment does not come with an air conditioner.
And New York gets really crowded in the summer. I'm almost positive there is a a city-wide mandate stating there must be at least one double-decker tourist bus for every twenty people, regardless if those twenty people actually want to ride on said double-decker tourist bus.
(I'm not doing a very good job of being a spokesperson for my city. I'm sorry. It took almost an hour for my cab to work it's way through midtown traffic this morning, and those double-decker buses were the only thing I could see through the windows. In the future, I will spread my ire over a whole swath of traffic-stalling-tourist-traps instead of just harping on one.)
But back to my north-bound train. Sometimes my job leads me to live a bit more transiently than usual, and this is one of those times. In just five (more) short hours, I will be at the foothills of New Hampshire's White Mountains and ready to spend the next 10 weeks of my life making theater for the good people of Whitefield, NH.
This probably means that I won't be able to write as much as I'd like, and this really probably means I won't be able to feature a ton of new slices I find throughout the land, and this definitely probably means I won't be able to bake any new and glorious creations.
However, I've just learned that the official state fruit of New Hampshire is the pumpkin.
So I'll be damned if I don't find at least once slice of pumpkin pie.
|One last look at the city|